


Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony, Something is lost and cannot be found

by BuddyBuddyPalBuddy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Ligur, Eventual Fluff, Incomplete, M/M, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, and by eventual I mean in later chapters, don’t be mad, eventual angst, plz, same with all the ineffable husbands stuff that comes later too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyBuddyPalBuddy/pseuds/BuddyBuddyPalBuddy
Summary: Holy water isn’t a death sentence in this one. But, it’s close.Inspired by a theory I posted on my tumblr, @palpalbuddypalThere is more to come, so if you’re not satisfied by just this, that’s a good thing.Enjoy!





	1. Chapter One

There was water in his mouth when he woke up. His whole body was soaked. Eyes opening slowly, he winced at the bright lights, feeling strange and exposed, suddenly aware of the fact he was nude. He turned his head and spat the water onto the cold tile floors. It reflected the light back at him, and he peered into the watery mirror. 

The face staring back at him was as unfamiliar as everything else. He shivered from the cold in the room, all the water on his skin not helping. His skin was dark, with a few interesting looking wrinkles stretched along his face. Dark blue eyes, almost black, stared right back at him. They looked strangely empty. But sad, in a strange way he couldn’t grasp…

He caught sight of a reflection in the pool of water. He turned around slowly.

A tall man was staring down at him. The smile plastered on his face sent chills up his spine, but he didn’t know why. He coughed up the water left in his lungs.

“Where am I?” He croaked.

The tall man’s smile seemed to grow, somehow.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Well,” He started. It felt like he should’ve remembered something. But nothing laid beyond the last minute- waking up soaked and nude and cold, “No. I don’t. What is this place?”

The tall man took a step closer to him and said, “Why, it’s heaven. The nicest place in the whole universe. And I’m Gabriel, an archangel.”

He blinks. Gabriel had purple eyes. 

“And who am I? Do I- I have to have a name. What’s my name?”

Gabriel tilted his head a little. He shivered again, scared he said something wrong.

“You don’t have one yet. You just got here. I’m thinking of a good one for you, though.”

He sat up, ignoring his muscles protesting against the motion. Gabriel was staring straight through him, through his bones and down to the tiles underneath. The sickening sensation of being exposed, watched was somehow even worse under those violet eyes, that looked like something he was supposed to know. 

“There’s a name I think you’d like. You don’t have to take it, but my colleague Michael and I thought it would be the best fitting name for you,” Gabriel explained.

“What is it?”

Gabriel took a few steps, idly pacing, smiling down at him warmly. 

“Anthony. Nice name, isn’t it?” Gabriel said happily, folding his hands in front of him. “Do you like it?”

Anthony. Anthony. Anthony. He “What does it mean?”

Gabriel furrowed his brows, “It’s the name of a human saint, I think. I don’t know what it means, sorry, but it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Anthony, Anthony. I like it. Yes, I like it very much.”

Gabriel’s lips closed around his teeth, making a thin, almost nonexistent little grin. He offered him his hand.

Anthony grabbed it without hesitation, watching the water on his hand soak the cuff of his jacket, turning it from grey to black.

—

Time passed in an agonizingly slow crawl. Thankfully, Uriel, Michael and Sandalaphon all welcomed him warmly into heaven. Uriel was surprisingly nice to him, answering the questions Gabriel did a poor job explaining.

Gabriel showed him around Heaven, (and loaned him clothes), the painfully similar hallways and stairwells that he wished he could call a labyrinth, but no labyrinth in all creation could ever be this drab and organized. The only color was the angels, and the big globe in the middle of one of the higher floors. Even the books in the archives were bound in white, each scroll on perfect white paper, neatly organized on orderly shelves. Everything was white, pure, and good.

For some reason, it made his skin crawl. Not enough for him to ask Gabriel about it, but enough to unsettle him. He asked Gabriel about too much, anyways, at least Michael said he did. 

So most of his time was spent in the archives, trying to fill in the gaps of memory he had, answering his questions himself. Of course, he started from the beginning, pouring through the records of God creating the universe, and the angels filling in the blanks with all the beautiful things outside of heaven. 

The records said Uriel made Jupiter. Anthony liked the idea of that, of Uriel beating her strong wings against the cold nothingness of space, forcing gas into a huge ball, an endless storm raging on the surface, like an artist’s signature on a painting. He imagined himself there with her and the rest of the angels at creation, helping make all things, big and small. Searching for his name or a mention of him proved to be fruitless, but he still had his imagination.

He skimmed the records of the Failed Revolt, and all the rest of angelic history, mostly bulky, flavorless reports about infinite expansion, the joy of creation made dull and flavorless in the reports. Anthony did enjoy the detail in them, making planets in his mind.

Human history, however, was much more interesting. They seemed not to have the capacity for logic like angels did, and each little bit kept him on his toes, even in writing. Anthony and Cleopatra, the assassination of Franz Ferdinand, the Cold War. It was all so political and messy and dirty, the underhanded schemes, the emotion and passion, and undeniably human.

It was fascinating. 

With each page he read, he felt himself understanding more and more, wondering where in the world he could’ve been during all of this, and where Gabriel and the other angels were? Demons seemed much, much more prevalent in human history, influencing the humans to be cruel to one another. 

But there was so much to humans, who knew if there were even demons influencing them? Or if they were naturally that dumb?

He asked Gabriel.

“Both,” Gabriel answered, “That’s why we have to thwart the opposition at every turn.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t read anything about us doing that. Or helping humans.”

Gabriel leaned over the table he was reading at, peering down at the book. He shook his head, smiling.

“It wouldn’t be in that record,” Gabriel explained, “It would be in a Principalities’ log, which are way…” he pointed to the far corner, “way over there.”

“Ah.” Anthony stood, but Gabriel pushed him back with a gentle press on the shoulder.

“Speaking of Principalities, there’s a position I think you would enjoy. Down on earth, I mean. Since you seem to be so interested in human history, I think you would enjoy it and find it a particularly fulfilling job.”

“Er-“

“Think about it. You’d get to go down to earth, do some good, see some good, and help the humans stand against the demons. You know about human history, you seem to be interested. I think this would be a great fit for you, since you like all that stuff. See? Perfect.” Gabriel said, smiling brighter than the lights of heaven.

Anthony nibbled on the inside of his lip. Heaven finally was his home again, and he didn’t know if he was ready to leave. But Gabriel knew best, he always did.

Anthony smiled and put his hand on top of Gabriel’s hand, squeezing.

“It would be an honor.”

—

The body he squeezed his form into was constructing, like a woman’s corset. Not like he’d ever worn a corset, but when he read about it, he imagined it being as tight as the ribs around his lungs, tight as the lungs around his heart. Hopefully they weren’t still in fashion. Walking was weird, the feeling of Gabriel’s guiding hands on his arms even weirder. Anthony never knew something could be so warm and firm, steady as the walls of heaven itself. Each step was wobbly, no matter what he tried. But at least the body looked like himself- dark skin, the same deep blue eyes and funny little wrinkles. They folded when he smiled at himself in the mirror.

He considered getting a fake pair of glasses, just to fit the role of a human, but they felt weird on his face. Besides, Uriel, Michael, Sandalaphon and Gabriel had made it clear enough that he wasn’t meant to act fully human or learn too much about them. It was odd, being discouraged from learning, but they had a point. Or at least he assumed they had a point. It was probably a good point, whatever it was.

Gabriel gave him shoes, fancy, leather ones that went with his suit. They kept himself protected from the dirt and grime of the ground, and looked good doing so. The little heels made him taller, too. Not as tall as Gabriel, hardly even close, just an inch taller than usual.

He decided he’d get himself a walking stick, a cane, like Winston Churchill. Once he got to earth and could find a proper cane store, he’d find a cane and buy it and use it to walk around with. But for now, his legs wobbled like a newborn deers, and his fingers were cramping from their grip on Gabriel’s arms.

Gabriel took a step back without him noticing. He stepped, but his knee gave out from under him, sending him falling to the ground with an echoing thud. The same strong, steady arms lifted him up as they had before, while he was learning to walk, when he first woke up. 

Gabriel’s violet eyes met his in a silent question, squeezing his arms once, twice, three times. Anthony smiled, taking a step forward and feeling just a little more sturdy.

“Is there anything you want to do before leaving to earth?” Gabriel asked. “I know it’s a big step for you, and I want to make sure you’re ready.”

Gabriel stepped back, Antony stepped forward. 

“Manifest myself a cane. So I don’t have to worry about falling.”

“A cane?”

“Oh, it’s a stick. Like from a tree. And the humans polish it down, gets it all nice, and they use it to walk around and not fall. Especially the older ones, they fall down a lot. I couldn’t even begin to talk about how many times the old humans die from falling or break their hip while falling, like… Garry Hoy? Reverdy Johnson? No. Uh, no. More like…” Antony nibbled his lip, trying to think of a good example. “They fell, but not in the way I’m thinking of.”

“Angels used to fall,” Gabriel offered, “That’s how demons were made. Corrupt, wicked angels that wanted nothing to do with Gods merciful love and our little family fell a long, long time ago. Even before the earth was made. Their goal is to ruin the world, and everything on it.”

Anthony nodded, but it still wasn’t what he was thinking about. He already knew all those things about demons, anyway. They fell down stairs and in the streets, but didn’t die. Just got hurt. 

A sudden thought hit Anthony. “We won’t come across any demons, right?”

“Of course not.” Gabriel’s violet eyes were open and confident, the little wrinkles from smiling slightly sunk in. 

Anthony smiled, wishing there were little wrinkles by his eyes, and took another step.

—

London smelled bad, like smoke and grease. Anthony fought the urge to cover his mouth with his hand and retch, clutching the head of his cane with all his might. Uriel made it for him before he left, and he was glad it was as strong as she was. She also told him London smelled. He didn’t think she was right when she told him, but no, London stank. Apparently, Paris was even worse, New York even more so. 

Even then, there were some beautiful parts to London, like the big park Gabriel showed him. Antony never thought anything could be so green as the trees and grass was, little ducks fluttering over the water like tiny, oddly shaped angels. Tiny, oddly shaped angels that made the strangest noises, but Anthony had to admit, they were adorable, as everything in God’s creation was. 

Most of the human things were strange. Like needing a last name on all his papers. Surely, Anthony did the job, but Gabriel told him the added name helped convince the humans he was one of them. He chose Adjutor. 

Gabriel spent two days showing him around, then left, telling him to call if he needed anything.

“I’ll be staying in London for a while, so I’ll always be close. Don’t be afraid to call. You’re going to do fantastically.”

His only job was to do good things. The park seemed like a good place to start. Inspiring people to pick up litter, to help stray cats, throw grapes for the ducks instead of bread. Small things were a good start, just like Gabriel had told him. 

The sky over his head was cherry and blue as he walked, the sun in just the right angle to make the ring a man was proposing to his girlfriend with shimmer like anything. Of course, she said yes the moment his knee struck the ground, and it put a smile on Anthony’s face. Idly, he tapped a withered bush with his cane, making the sickly branches burst into color. He tightened his grip around the handle, suddenly noticing someone asleep on a bench. Pausing, he stared at the man on the bench. A shock of white hair decorated his head, a torn, ratty looking trench coat serving as his blanket. He couldn’t tell if he was wearing shoes.

Oh, the poor thing was probably homeless. Anthony frowned, making his way to him, leaning heavily on his cane. Soon enough, he was looking down at the homeless man. He could miracle him a job, some nicer clothes, and some money, but if you give a man a fish, he only eats for a day. Teach a man to fish? Well, he eats forever.

Gently, he prodded him on the shoulder. The man bolted upright, clearly shocked out of his wits. A little bird started to chirp. God, the man smelt of… something. Something dark. 

“Hi. I’m Anthony, Anthony Adjutor. Hard times, huh?” Anthony said, trying to use that same, calming tone Gabriel did.

The man blinked. His eyes were huge and dark, like the night sky, face as pale and pockmarked as the moon. He rubbed his eyes, breathing starting to pick up, muttering hurriedly to himself. 

“Ligur?” He asked. What? Maybe it was a joke.

“Ligur?” Anthony replied, “I never even knew her.”

The man shook his head hard. “No. No, that’s your name. Ligur. It’s Hastur. Don’t you remember me?”

Hastur. A duke of hell. That explained the stench. How would he know him?

“I don’t think we’ve ever met, sir. I was wondering if I could help you. I have a bit of money-“

“Fuck your money!” He shrieked. “I- I saw you die! How are you here? How?!? Ligur?”

“What are you talking about?”

The man- Hastur? Stood, black eyes massive and wet looking. He squeezed the head of his cane, almost hard enough to crack.

Hastur stared at him, now squatting on the bench. Anthony extended his hand, because that’s what felt right, and Hastur jolted, falling over the back of the bench. Hastur stood.

“Why’d you call me Ligur?” Anthony demanded, “Answer me!”

He took two purposeful strides to the bench before Hastur bolted, running straight into traffic and disappearing into the host of people walking down the street.

Ligur. A duke of hell. Hastur. Another duke of hell. He sat on the bench. 

It wasn’t until the sun was setting that he realized he should’ve attacked the demon. So, why didn’t he?

He ran his thumb over the head of his cane, and the flowers of Berkeley Square bloomed suspiciously out of season. He had to find him. He had to know.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting an odd stranger in a park, Anthony (Ligur) tries to forget anything ever happened.  
> But that’s harder to do than he originally thought.

Of course, he started his search with the smallest of acts, trying to deny his curiosity. He’d walk through the park to take his mind off of it, then see the bench Hastur was on. He’d make it so a woman miraculously survived a car accident, then see Hastur’s in her panicked, disbelieving eyes. He’d see a homeless man, and think of how he reached out to Hastur, and even worse, how it felt right to do so.

And then he considered the fact that he didn’t know anything before waking up in heaven, soaked and nude, which troubled him more than anything, because that meant that anything could be behind him. A Pandora’s box, waiting to be opened. Or Schrodingers box, where nothing is certain until checked. He preferred thinking of it as the latter.

After realizing denying would do nothing, he got a pair of gloves, and began his search, sniffing through London for a whiff of darkness. 

Then, after a week of scouring through the scum of the city, he stopped, realizing he was disappointing Gabriel. Well, he wasn’t certain he was, but he knew he needed to take a break, find something to inspire him back into dedicating himself to his duty. 

Surprisingly, it led him to a bookshop. An unfamiliar one, one Gabriel hadn’t shown him on his grand tour of London. It seemed pleasant and welcoming, though. The sign was neatly painted, and just by peeking through the glass panes in the door, he could see hundreds of books. Beautiful.

When he stepped in, the door gave a little ringing noise- no, there was a bell. Ah. The store was nearly silent, his cane striking the ground and the breaths of the patrons the only sound. It was aglow with a warm, yellow light, books stacked on every single surface with no sign of a break. It was claustrophobic, almost, but strangely warm. So, so many books! Just like the archives of heaven, but less organized, probably due to human error. He trailed his fingers over the worn spines, eyeing all the texts. It smelled a little funny, moldy and old and dark, but wonderful.

Many of them were fictional, meaning he had never read them. Old enough that the paper smelled beautifully, unlike the rest of London. He picked up one book, a collection of poetry, and opened it up, flicking delicately through pages worn from years and years, surely. They were all beautiful, tragic poems, and he wanted to say them all aloud, since isn’t that what humans made poems for? He set it down, going to find another book, one with a proper story. 

Then, he could take that story, the happy ending, and give it to someone else. Or, he could find a copy of the same book, and give it to someone who needs a little push to the straight-and-narrow. The Bible didn’t seem to be as affective as it used to be, and reminding humans of their history did nothing anymore.

“We’re closing!” A man with red hair suddenly shouted from the middle of the room, “Time to go, all of you, get out, go,” Anthony set down his book, watching the man usher people out rather impolitely. He had a funny walk, and with every other step he looked like he was about to fall with the sway of his hips. Maybe he needed a cane.

Then, the man came over to him, some reason wearing sunglasses indoors. “You! Can’t you hear, closing time…” he trailed off, eyebrows up.

“Oh. Sorry. I, um, didn’t realize. These are very good books, aren’t they?”

The man dumbly nodded. He looked pale, like was about to be sick. Oh dear.

“Is everything okay?” Anthony asked.

“Ngk,” the man said. Anthony frowned.

“My name’s Anthony.”

“That’s funny,” the man distantly murmured, “My name’s that, too. Anthony J. Crowley. Call me Crowley.”

Anthony extended a hand, smiling. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but who was he to suddenly accuse someone else of being someone they weren’t? 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a bright smile. Crowley looked even sicker.

“Yeah.” Crowley didn’t even look at his hand. “Meet.”

“I do love your collection,” he tried. Crowley probably blinked behind his sunglasses, looking about the room in a haze.

“Oh, it’s not mine,” he corrected, “it’s my, er, um, my husbands.”

“It’s wonderful,” Anthony said. Crowley smiled.

“He’s wonderful. I love him, so much. Do you know me? I know I’ve seen your face before,” Crowley said, that sick look back on his face.

“No, I would remember if we had met, certainly, but if you know a lot of people…” he couldn’t believe he was saying this, “...maybe you could help me?”

“Huh?”

Anthony sighed. Oh, humans. “I’m looking for a…  
Man. Someone I met a week or so ago? His name is Hastur.”

Crowley sighed. “Of course.”

“What?”

Crowley smiled rather awkwardly. “Of course I can help you find him, I mean. Met him a week ago, you said?”

Anthony nodded. It didn’t feel right, really, to say he only knew Hastur for that long, but he had first seen him in the park then, under that beautiful blue sky. His fingers twitched. Goodness, had he wanted to touch him, even as he ran away. He looked down at his gloved hands. Disgusting.

“Yeah. A funny man. With white hair. And a new coat. Homeless, I think,” he said, careful to keep his description free of the word ‘demon’. Because if this man knew demons existed, and angels did too- imagine the consequences!

“A new coat?”

“I gave that to him. Poor thing looked so cold. But I need to find him.”

Crowley pursed his lips, putting his hands in his pockets, still looking like he was about to vomit. 

“Well, I, uh, know him. Check the pubs. Any of them. Now get out. We’re closed.”

Anthony smiled, nodded, and extended his hand one last time, but Crowley turned on his heel and rushed into the back room. Weird. But at least he knew where to start looking. 

He left the store without another look, the pep in his step only hindered by the cane.

—

Finding the first pub, surprisingly, was pretty easy. Just wait until night, follow the steam of people, and it worked for the second, third, fourth, and fifth pub.

The hard part was trying to stay calm, regardless of how many times he showed up empty handed. On the bright side, London had a sort of charm to it at night, with all the buildings lit up, each car a flash of headlights, and every light in the buildings a tiny life behind the curtains. Anthony miracled his coat warmer, pulling it tightly around him and buttoning it up, blue wool instead of blue cotton. It matched the night sky. 

The urge to scream in frustration at the eighth bar (2am) nearly overwhelming, his back against the brick wall of the bar he had just searched. Even though his coat, the wall was cold. He ran his hand over his face, keeping the other in a death grip on his cane. What was he even doing, searching for a demon, when there was so much work to be done? Gabriel would really, really be upset at him. And if Michael found out he was interacting with- no, searching for a demon?

Sighing, he straightened himself up, deciding to go to the first not so fortunate person he saw, and have them find some money, maybe a coin (one of the ones that weren’t glued to the ground) or some loose bills. Or maybe a pocket bible. 

Ah. There someone was. A ragged looking man, lurking in the glow of a street light. White hair. A… familiar coat. Hastur. Anthony stared at him, disbelieving. Without thinking, he rushed to Hastur, frantically pounding the ground with his cane in his attempt to stay balanced, a sloppy, staccato rhythm against the pavement. 

He was close enough to smell him, standing behind the demon. How much effort would it take to summon a knife? He shook his head, and reached out, hand trembling. It hovered over his shoulder, so close to his throat…

Anthony grabbed Hastur’s shoulder. The demon shrieked, and whirled around, eyes panicked and huge, like a deer about to flee. Violently, Hastur tried to struggle against him, Anthony pressing his back against the streetlight, the light wobbling only slightly. His other hand stayed tight on his cane.

“How did you know me? Why did you call me Ligur? Am I supposed to know you?” 

Hastur stared at him dumbly, mouth open, his whole body trembling. Suddenly, the urge to cup Hastur’s face in his hand hit him like a train. Anthony tightened his grip on the cane. 

“You are- were- I don’t know…”

“Spit it out,” Anthony said, far too gently for it to be threatening. 

“I don’t know! I- I saw you die! Please let me go-“ Hastur struggled against him, writhing, Anthony dropping his cane, grabbing his coat and slamming him against the streetlight. It gave a harsh, metallic creak, but stayed steady.

“You saw me die?”

“Yes!” Hastur shrieked, going limp in his grip, “The fuckin, that flash bastard- You got a bucket of holy water dumped on you! And- and you were dead! I saw it! Please, Ligur-“

He slammed his back against the street light to shut him up, their foreheads touching. Anthony stared deep into his black eyes. 

“My. Name. Is. Anthony,” he growled, his whole form feeling alive and hot and raw with anger tearing through him. He wanted to slam him against the lamp post again, see the metal break, see his eyes go even wider.

“No. It’s Ligur. You’re a duke of hell. With me. You told me that you’d always be with me!” Hastur hysterically cried, voice thick and broken. Anthony took a step back, watching the tears fall down his face. Slowly, he bent down, picking up his cane.

“If I was a demon, then why did I wake up, in heaven…” Oh. He was sopping wet when he woke up. If it was really true- Christ.

Hastur’s crying turned to sobs, desperately falling to his knees and grabbing at Anthony’s coat. Anthony jolted, forcing himself to stay still. There Hastur was. A duke of hell, weeping over him. Anthony slowly sunk next to him, heart pounding almost as an afterthought in his chest. He pulled Hastur’s hand from his coat, wrapping it up in his own.

“Tell me everything you can about me,” he pleaded. Hastur’s hand was warm, Anthony’s gloves keeping their skin from touching. He wished they didn’t.

The demon sniffed.

“Uh,” he said, “your hair. It used to be… shorter. And had a chameleon. And your eyes weren’t blue. They used to be all sorts of colors, they changed with how you felt. And I always knew when you were angry or sad or happy because your eyes would turn red or purple or green- now they’re just… blue.”

Anthony blinked. 

“Then a lot has changed. You know it’s not me. So why tell me this? What are you planning?”

“Planning?” Hastur screeched, “I’m not planning anything! I’m- I’m trying to do. Trying to Greece. No. Grieve. It’s a human thing.”

“Grieve? For who?” Hastur looked away, looking almost ethereal in the golden glow of the streetlight, eyes still black and full like the night sky, like all the places in between stars.

“For the one thing I’ve ever loved,” he whimpered.

Ah.

Anthony nodded.

“I know, my side isn’t too happy about Armageddon either-“

“No.” Hastur let go of his hand and wiping his grimy face clean of tears, “It’s not that. It was never that. It was you, Ligur, I… I should’ve said it more, I should’ve walked in first, and now you’re a fucking angel. And now you’ve forgotten me. The worst part is I don’t know what would’ve been worse. Either way I lost you.”

Anthony wanted to reach out. To touch him. Take off his gloves and hold his hand. Like what the person- no, the demon- he once was would’ve done. 

“I want to know more. About me, I mean. This Ligur. Tomorrow, let’s meet up again. At the park, ‘round six.” Anthony said, quiet, as if someone was close. “But if you’re lying to me-“

“I’m not-“

“If. I’ll make whatever happened to him seem like a picnic.”

Hastur laughed, grim.

“You wouldn’t have to do much to do that.”

Anthony stood, Hastur wordlessly passing him his cane.

“Why not tonight?” Hastur asked, looking absolutely pathetic from the ground, face dirty and all tear stained.

Anthony brushed imaginary dust from his coat.

“I have to… meet up with someone. Talk to them. Then do some angel stuff.” Gabriel would know, he had to. 

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Even without your color changing eyes and all that, I can still tell when you’re scared.”

“Scared?” He huffed, “What of?”

Hastur smiled.

“Yourself.”

Anthony rapped his cane against the ground, and with the flash of a miracle, he was in the park, by the lake, all alone. 

—

He sat down at a bench, suddenly feeling weary, and stared at the lake’s reflection of the sky, empty and black. He remembered standing up in heaven, soaked from head to toe with water. He didn’t know if it felt holy, though. Well, Hastur didn’t feel particularly demonic, just… warm. And familiar. His glove was still dirty, from where their hands touched. Overwhelmed, he smacked his lap with his hands, the trees exploding into full green. God, he needed Gabriel.

Shaking, he clasped his hands together. He whispered something under his breath.

Without even a shifting breeze to signify his arrival, the archangel Gabriel was next to him on the bench, their knees bumping.

“You summoned?” He chirped, ever so bright. Anthony wished he could return his smile.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he said, voice trembling. The smile fell off of Gabriel’s face. 

Neither of them noticed the lake, red and vibrant as blood, dyed by the light of the coming dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me @palpalbuddypal on tumblr


	3. Chapter three

Just before that same sunrise, Anthony J. Crowley was laying in bed, fully awake, as he had been for hours. The ceiling hadn’t changed, but his thoughts were rushing without end. Aziraphale’s breaths were warm against the bare skin of his chest, Crowley gently dragging his fingers through his angels hair, trying to distract himself.

There had to be a way what he saw wasn’t real. It wasn’t possible for it to be real, anyways. Holy water completely obliterated any demon it came in contact with, like sodium in water. But there he was, standing in the bookshop, arm extended, every single bit of him a riot against natural law. And he didn’t remember him. Or he was pretending not to remember him. Ligur was never good at acting, always so stiff, and he never smiled. Except at Hastur. But that still didn’t explain-

“Crowley?” Aziraphale slurred, stirring against him.

Crowley’s hand froze in his hair.

“Sorry, Angel. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized, Aziraphale sitting up and gazing down at him with pure blue eyes.

“Your thinking is keeping me awake, dear,” he whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“Angel-“

“You can tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, I’ve known you for 6000 years.”

Crowley sighed, wishing he could put his sunglasses on. Instead, he rested his hands on Aziraphale’s soft hips, pulling him into his lap.

“It’s a long story-“

“That’s okay.”

“Er. Okay.” He gently pat Aziraphale’s hip. “Well. Um. You know that demon that I was on trial for killing? The Duke of Hell, Ligur?”

Aziraphale hummed, nodding.

“Yes, he’s the one you almost got obliterated for killing. I don’t regret giving you that holy water,” he said, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder. He tensed.

“Well. About that. Yesterday, when I was closing up the shop for you…” Crowley trailed off. “Can guilt cause hallucinations?”

“I suppose so, but I’m going to guess you don’t feel guilty, not even in the slightest,” Aziraphale said in a humorous tone, leaving wet kisses on Crowley’s neck. In spite of himself, he laughed.

“No, I don’t, but at least I know I wasn’t hallucinating. Yesterday, in the shop, I saw him. Ligur, I mean. Standing right there in front of me- he looked a little different, longer hair, cane, fancy clothes, but he was there. And he.. he said his name was Anthony.”

Aziraphale was still against him. He leaned back, almost causing Crowley to tip over. He couldn’t read the look in his eyes but God, he wished he had his sunglasses. 

“What?” Aziraphale hissed, “he was on earth?”

“I thought you would be more about the whole… he’s alive thing?”

Aziraphale blinked, a thousand little expressions crossing his face, too fast for Crowley to track. 

“Well, er-“

“Why doesn’t that surprise you?” He asked, bewildered. Aziraphale fidgeted.

“I, um…”

“Angel, are you not telling me something?”

He looked away. 

“Holy water… doesn’t exactly destroy demons. You know that law, matter cannot be created nor destroyed? It’s like that. But with souls. The holy water doesn’t destroy the soul, just- purifies it? Erases everything else, but the soul is left squeaky clean.” Aziraphale looked at them, a sad smile flickering on and off his face.

Crowley was frozen still, hands squeezing at Aziraphale’s hips. So it wasn’t a hallucination. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Crowley growled, Aziraphale shuddering against him.

“I was scared!”

Crowley stared at him, confused. 

“Why?”

Aziraphale let out a shaky sigh, taking a deep breath. 

“If you knew it would make you an angel again, I don’t know what you would have done,” Aziraphale whispered, voice thick, “I was scared, so, so scared that if you knew you would… you would…”

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, hands cupping Aziraphale’s face, brushing his tears away, “I would never do that to you.”

“But what would you have done?” Aziraphale sobbed, “If you knew?”

He silently mouthed, trying to find the right words, mumbling nothing but empty syllables, too scared to let his mind wander that far. If he had known, what would he have done? Tears were steaming from his face too, Aziraphale’s soft blue eyes flaying him alive. He slumped against Aziraphale, wrapping him tightly in his arms. The sun was rising just outside their window, red and glorious.

—

Anthony and Gabriel didn’t see the sun rising. All Anthony could bare look at was the rich, comforting violet of Gabriel’s eyes. He said they were from a human woman, one who was actually born with violet eyes. Anthony hadn’t read about anyone with violet eyes, or seen any human with them, and there were a lot of humans in London. They were special. Unique. Unfading. And filled with worry. Anthony forced his mind back on track.

“I met someone. About a week ago,” Anthony stated, unsure of what to say. 

Gabriel furrowed his brows, leaning forward just a little.

“And? Are you okay? Did they do something?”

Anthony thought back to the encounter. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, just… disquieting. Every inch of him itched to tell Gabriel everything, like they were back in heaven, Gabriel straddling a chair and listening intently as Anthony told him all about what the humans were up to in some little island from the very beginning of the earth. If he told Gabriel everything, then what if never learned the truth? What if he hurt Hastur?

Anthony looked away.

“Yeah. I’m- I’m fine. It’s hard, though, seeing the humans refusing to help one another, so wrapped up in money and power to reach out to one another.” 

There was a brief, awkward pause. A duck quacked.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Gabriel said sincerely, “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here for you, I always will be here for you, Anthony.”

Anthony shakily sighed. He wondered what Ligur would’ve said. If he would’ve howled with demonic wrath, slammed Gabriel against some solid object and screamed, screamed him into submission, gnashed his teeth until Gabriel told him everything. 

It occurred to him, suddenly, that he had done that exact thing to Hastur the night before. 

“I hate the demons,” Anthony growled, “I don’t know how much of their suffering is caused by them, but the things that are- and the humans fall for temptation every single time. How do you not get frustrated? How do you not lose hope, lose faith, that there’s actually good in these creatures?”

Gabriel clasped his hand on his shoulder, sturdy and squeezing ever so slightly. Anthony looked back into his eyes.

The archangel smiled, bright as the rising sun, and said; “All we can do is trust that our side is right, that we are doing God’s will, whatever that may be, by helping the humans.”

“You don’t know what She wants?” 

Gabriel looked away, lips moving, then pausing. He shook his head.

“I don’t. So, all we can do is do good. And when Armageddon finally comes, we’ll get our revenge on the demons, once and for all. Sounds good, right?”

Anthony nodded, not knowing if he really meant it.

“When that time comes,” Gabriel said, radiating confidence, “And our side wins, we’ll destroy the other side, and remake everything.” 

Anthony nodded. That sounded nice.

“No more cities, no more money, no more poor…” Anthony smiled, feeling himself relax, “I’ll have to look forward to that.”

“The sunrise is nice, though,” Gabriel mused, staring at the reddish sky. There was a slight breeze, shaking down little leaves that were too weak to hold on, “Makes this whole place just a little… romantic?”

Anthony shook his head. “No, not particularly. It’s a park, it’s pretty, but I wouldn’t say…. romantic. Charming, maybe. Beautiful. Lush.”

“I was just thinking the same,” Gabriel said in a rush.

Gabriel’s hand grazed over his arm, down to his hand, tenderly removing it from the bench, entwining their hands.

“I don’t understand why you wear gloves,” Gabriel murmured, “but I guess that’s okay.”

“What are you doing?” Anthony asked.

“Holding your hand,” he explained, “its what humans do. To the other humans they like. A lot. And I like you a lot. Uh.”

It was the first time Anthony had ever seen Gabriel at a loss for words. The first time he had ever seen his face this pink, too. 

“The ways humans show one another affection will never cease to amaze me,” Anthony said, smiling, gently squeezing Gabriel’s hand. It felt weird, with a body, and with gloves, and with the person not being Hastur. He could almost imagine it, Hastur leaning in real close to him, their foreheads touching like the night before, breaths mingling under the night sky.

Gabriel took Anthony’s hand, raising it like a glass at a toast, leaning in ever so slightly-

“There’s something else,” Gabriel whispered, “another way the humans show affection.”

“Oh?” Anthony started, “What is-“

Before he knew what was happening, Gabriel’s hands were gently cupping his face, and their lips touched. Anthony jolted, Gabriel leaning forward to keep the kiss going, hand moving from Anthony’s face to the small of his back. Their teeth clanked together awkwardly, Anthony only closing his eyes when he realized that was what Gabriel was doing. He moved his hands to settle on Gabriel’s shoulders. His lips were a little dry.

Gabriel’s hand trailed down his side, settling on his hip. Anthony flinched against the touch.

A duck loudly quacked, shocking the both of them into jerking back. It stared at them with beady, cold eyes. Anthony was sure, if he was human, he would feel breathless and overwhelmed. He’s not sure what he felt.

“Was that alright?” Gabriel asked, staring rather obviously at Anthony’s lips.

Anthony touched his lips with a gloved hand.

“I dunno,” he said dumbly, “was it supposed to be something?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said, that unflinching aura of confidence wavering, “something.”

“It wasn’t bad, just. The duck,” he said, vaguely gesturing to the fowl in question. It quacked again. Smug bastard.

Gabriel nodded, rolling his shoulders and smiling at Anthony.

“We should meet up here again,” he said, “same time tomorrow? Maybe we can talk more? And, if you want, we can kiss again?”

Anthony blinked. “Huh?”

“Yeah. Kissing. That’s what that was called-“

“I know, Gabriel. I just… Thought I misheard you?”

Gabriel nodded, purple eyes looking dazed and far away. His smile could outshine the sun.

“I really do care for you, Anthony,” he vowed.

Anthony knew he felt the same, but his tongue was nothing but a chunk of lead in his mouth. Thankfully, right after he spoke, Gabriel was gone with the puff of a miracle.

He touched his lips, the gloves a weird feeling against them. His thoughts were flying like dust through his head, infinite in number but impossible to catch. One foot on cloud nine, the other… somewhere else. He had sturdy hands. Warm, powerful. Hands that shaped the universe, created infinite things. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was…

Strange.

But Gabriel was nice. And sweet. Kind, comforting. Anthony rested his hands on his cane. If he was who Hastur said he was, then why would Gabriel touch him? Hastur. Oh, Hastur! They were to meet at six tonight! Anthony smacked himself in the face, feeling foolish for letting that slip his mind. It was understandable, though. If only he could tell Gabriel everything. Hold his hand and lay against his chest, spill his heart out, let Gabriel advise him as he had since his creation. Re-creation?

He wouldn’t know if those any of answers would be true. What if Gabriel had been lying to him this whole time? What if Hastur had been lying to him? 

Thoughts overwhelming him, Anthony leaned his head back, covering his face with his hands. He swore, but very quietly, since he was an angel. 

Or something.

—

Six came surprisingly quickly, the hours slipping by as Anthony tried to make sense of his thoughts. Thinking of anything but Gabriel or Hastur or kissing seemed to be impossible. Even the vaguest of thoughts lead back to the two of them, or at least one of them. It wasn’t important, it really wasn’t, what was important was finding out what he was, what he used to be. 

Life shifted around him in the park. The sun continued its slow path through the sky, yanking him through the day until six, people coming and going, a few spies throwing bread at ducks, bread that Anthony turned to grapes, until finally, he saw Hastur among the people. Standing in the lake up to his hips, the humans none the wiser. Anthony stood, clasping his cane and hobbling over to the lake.

“What are you doing?” Anthony called

Hastur looked up, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Hi, Ligur.”

He flinched. “Not my name. And, that doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m swimming,” he said, as if it was normal. Anthony shook his head, inching closer to the edge of the pond.

“You’re not supposed to swim in the water,” Anthony tried to explain. 

“There’s nothing saying that it’s not aloud. It’s just weird. It’s a… social thing, I think. You know?”

“I know, but it’s-“

“Weird, like I said. Not bad, not good, just a little odd.”

He splashed, as if it added weight to his argument.

“I’m not getting a lesson in sociology from someone ass deep in a pond” he deadpanned, “get up here.”

Hastur cracked his neck, and he was out of the water and dry, next to him.

“Now, tell me about this Ligur. And the holy water.”

Hastur’s smile fell off his face. 

“He is like you in the sense that he always got on my case for doing stupid shit.”

“Was.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You said he was dead.”

“If he really was dead, you wouldn’t be here.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you are him,” Hastur insisted hoarsely, “I know.”

Anthony raised the hand not clutching his cane in defeat.

“Let’s say I am him,” Anthony said, “just for a second. That I was a demon. Then how would I be an angel?”

“Can we please talk about it later?”

“What, do you have plans?”

Hastur nodded rapidly, “Yeah, I was going to take you some places. See if they jog your memory.” He started walking away, Anthony stumbling over his own feet to keep up. 

“And where are you thinking of taking me?”

“A surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” Anthony growled. Hastur flinched.

“That’s not changed. Come on, follow,” the duke of hell twirled around, suddenly wearing a big, orange feather boa wrapped around his throat instead of the scarf. He laughed at the look on Anthony’s face, but then his face shifted, staring at him with deep, endless eyes. Was he supposed to remember something? 

Hastur didn’t look away.

“We have the whole night to ourselves.”

Anthony nodded, a bit stunned, but followed Hastur as he walked out of the park and into the endless roar of the city.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr @palpalbuddypal


End file.
